Family History
by SongbirdNoodles
Summary: Three girls, as different as could be, born with the same blue eyes into the same Black Family. Following primary sources, this story traces their stories, from childhood games to a much darker future.
1. Chapter 1 The Diary

**Family History**

**by Songbird**

"…The historian must place greatest value upon primary sources. These may come in a variety of forms, from personal writings and every-day objects, to official documents and all works of art. A historian must learn to use and judge the sources, and from their information may weave a carpet of historical facts, created by the personal sentiments of each of his primary sources…"

Lothar Kaustriz, _What is history?_

**Chapter One: The Diary**

**Andromeda, 1964**

"Diaries are the most subjective of all sources … highly coloured by background and age … of the writer, we learn from them not as much historical fact, but what, if you will, common people, thought of these events…"

W. Peterson, _Upon Historical Sources_

**September 30. 1964**

**My room**

Dear Diary,

Yesterday was my 10th birthday. It was a nice birthday, I got a cake with a sugar broomstick on it. The best thing about being 10 is that I'm going to Hogwarts next year, and that I got you from my sister Bellatrix. You're the best present I got this year, and not just because everything else I got is rubbish. It is though- Mother and Father gave me a necklace that I'm not allowed to wear until I'm older, and a dress I'm not supposed to wear except for Christmas. Auntie Hesteria gave me a set of hairpins made from Unicorn horns, and a mother-of-pearl hairbrush, which is the stupidest gift I've EVER gotten.

But I got you, diary, and you're perfect. I suppose you don't really know what you look like, so I will tell you. You're smaller than a normal book, and bound in red linen, which is wonderful because red is my favorite color in the whole, wide world. And you have a beautiful picture of a quill, and ink, on the front. And on the first page, Bella wrote _This is the diary of Andromeda Carys Black_, and underneath: _Blood and parchment are the safest places for secrets. Now you have someone to confide in while I'm at Hogwarts. Happy Birthday, Ada!_ And she had you charmed, so now no-one but me can open the pages (I tried it on Cissy, and it works), and if I leave you lying open, someone who isn't me won't be able to read you, because their eyes will go all funny and hurt, they stop (I tried that on Milton, our house elf, and it's pretty creepy). Isn't that great? Sometimes I think Bella is the best sister in the world. I miss her so since she went to stupid Hogwarts this year. Anyway, Mother says we are going on a visit to Auntie's house in London, so I must go now.

**October 1.**

**My bed**

Dear Diary,

I wish Bella didn't have to go to stupid Hogwarts. It's so boring without her. Yesterday was awful. Sirius is nice, but he's only seven, just like Cissy, and they hate each other and keep getting in fights and you can't play properly then. They always were nice to each other when Bella was still here. It's so boring without her. Yesterday Sirius kept pulling Cissy's hair and ruffling it and I remembered how Bella punched him in the face and told him she'd lock him in the attic if he didn't play along. I wish I could do that. But I'll just get in trouble for it. I slapped Cissy yesterday because she wouldn't play, but then she just went and told on me, and now Mother's locked me in my room. She says I can't come out until I've said sorry. But I'm not sorry. It was Cissy's own fault, as she wasn't playing along.

I wish Bella was here. This diary is nice and everything, but it can't punch Sirius in the face when he's being a prat.

**October 5**

**My room**

Dear Diary,

Today Sirius and Regulus came to visit us here. In autumn when it's raining outside, Grimmauld Place is a much better place to play. Our house is boring, boring, boring. And we don't have toy broomsticks or wands or swords or anything. All we have are dolls, and Sirius won't play with them because it's girly and dumb. I tried to make up one of Bella's games, but Sirius wouldn't be the Muggle we had to kill, and then Mother came and yelled at us for building a fort out of my desk and lots of pillows, so she's locked me in my room again, and says she can't understand why I can't behave more like a young lady, and worthy of my family.

Regulus has just come to visit me. He's only two and a bit; he peeked though my door and wobbled towards me, and he laughed when I played peek-a-boo with this diary. I asked him what was going on downstairs, and he said Cissy was crying, Sirius was being yelled at, and Mother said she was going insane. I wish she would, it would be so interesting.

**October 9.**

Dear Diary,

Nothing is happening here. I've taught Milton how to play cards, but it's stupid because he always lets me win, unless I command him not to, and then he always wins.

And then I asked Cissy to play ball with me, and she said she would in a moment, but when I checked where she was twenty minutes later she was still combing her stupid doll's hair.

**October 13.**

Dear Diary,

Today I was looking out of the attic window and saw some boys from the village fishing in the stream behind our house. It looked so fun. I actually asked Mother if I could join them. She yelled at me and told me I was lacking wizard pride, whatever that means, and shut me in my room AGAIN.

**December 20.**

**My bed**

Dear Diary,

I'm sorry I haven't been writing, but I was looking at all the beautiful blank parchment pages, and decided it was a shame to fill them with stupid waffle about being locked in my room, and how I hate my brainless sister Narcissa Airhead Black. So I waited for something exciting to happen, and here it is! It's almost Christmas, and Bella's coming home tomorrow! I'm so excited! Tomorrow, we're picking her up from the Hogwarts Express, and then we're going straight to Diagon and Knockturn Alley for Christmas shopping. I'm giving Cissy the stupid hairbrush I got from Auntie for Christmas, she'll never know the difference. And I don't know what I'm buying Bella yet, but it should be something wonderful, because she is so wonderful. I want a cat for Christmas. I told Mother it was the only thing in the world I wanted, and I hope I'm getting one. It's the closest to getting a friend for Christmas, and I would love to have a friend.

**December 21**

**My bed (it's very late!)**

Dear Diary,

Everyone is so happy to see Bella again. You should see the fuss they make over her, patting her hair giving her little presents (even though it's Christmas three days from now, and telling her she'll live up to the family name and all. This was at Auntie's Family Christmas Tea today, which was not as bad as usual because Bella was back. We were all forced to wash everywhere, especially behind the ears and neck, and then we had to put on stupid new dress-robes and put stupid satin bows into our hair. I hate being a girl.

But we played at Auntie's house, and Bella made up this great new game about saving Hogwarts from Muggles who wanted to invade it, and it was wonderful, until Mother found us and told us to come downstairs so all our a million year old Aunties could pet us, and give us slobbery kisses and tell us how much we've grown. But Bella kept making faces behind their backs, and then she tripped Kreacher, who was carrying a plate with eclairs, and all the chocolate cream spilled over Auntie Araminta's huge bottom. It was so funny!

I didn't see Uncle Alphard at the party. He's Father's brother and my favorite relative, except for Sirius and Regulus of course. He has a funny beard that tickles when you hug him, and he always lifts us up and turns us upside down to make us laugh. I don't think Father and Auntie like him very much, but I do, and it was sad not to see him.

When we came home, Mother made us go straight to bed. I thought that was sad,' cause I haven't talked to Bella at all since she came home. So I sneaked out of bed in my nighty and tiptoed across the hall into her room.

"Ada!"

"I'm the ghost of Greya, come to haunt you and bite your toes!" Bella didn't even smile. That was strange. Didn't she remember how we invented the ghost of Greya to scare Cissy and Sirius last Christmas? She did, however, make some room in her bed so I could stick my cold feet under her covers. And, diary, it was so strange. We couldn't think of anything to say to each other. I knew all about Hogwarts, from her letters and from what she'd told the family; and I didn't have anything interesting to tell, did I? Then I remembered something.

"Bella, where'd you reckon Uncle Alphard was today?"

She made a face and said, in a very serious voice, "I heard Auntie telling Great-Aunt Prewett he's been disowned. That means he's not family anymore."

"What does that mean, not family anymore? And what did he do?"

"It means that he's not a Black anymore. He can't come to family meetings, and the family won't help him anymore. Do you know, how we have our money at Gringotts and Uncle Dorian can get it out whenever we want it, even if Gringotts is closed? And how we can pay in shops just by saying "It stays in the family" and that means they can get it from Uncle Dorian later?" I nodded. "He can't do that anymore. And if he gets in trouble, the family won't get him out." It didn't seem all that bad to me. Family Meetings are terribly boring, with all the grownups drinking mead and talking about Mudbloods, and having to sit still while wearing your scratchiest silk dress robes.

"But Bella, why? What's he done?"

"He married a Muggle." The way Bella said it, it might have meant 'killed someone'.

"Is…is that a very bad thing?" I asked in a small voice.

"Bad? It's the worst thing in the world! Ada, look, he's ignoring the family name and wasting his blood. You know the family tree in Auntie's house that says "Toujours Pur"? That's what the Blacks are about, purebloods only. And when you're a Black, you can't just ignore the family tradition. You have to follow it!" She threw away her hair, looking like a princess, or a goddess. "Uncle Alphard is a blood traitor. He didn't follow the family tradition, and he betrayed us Blacks. I don't ever want to see him again!"

I'm lying in my bed, and it's very late, dear diary, and I think I will go to sleep now, instead of thinking of this blood traitor business. But I do think it's sad Uncle Alphard won't come and play horsies with us anymore.

**December 25. (Christmas!)**

Merry Christmas, dear Diary!

I got my kitten! He's the sweetest thing, all white and fluffy, with a tiny pink tongue and the perfectest, tiniest little teeth. He was actually hidden in my stocking this fast asleep, and I was so happy. He purrs when I stroke him and loves being scratched behind the ears. I've named in Whizz, because he looks just like a Fizzing Whizzbie. Oh, dear diary, I think I might be in love!

**December 26.**

Dear Diary,

Bella keeps saying that I shouldn't cuddle Whizz all the time, and I should stop carrying him around. She says cats are tough and wild animals, not like bunny rabbits. "But look at him!" I said. "How could I not cuddle him?" Whizz stretched his tiny little mouth and yawned, and I kissed him on his pink, perfect nose. Bella just snorted, she doesn't like Whizz, and she thinks I'm being stupid and fussy about him. We went to Auntie's house for a feast today, and she as good as ignored me. I didn't really mind, because I'd brought Whizz along, and because Sirius has a new broomstick (a Shooting Starlet 23), and he let all of us ride it. Bella really wanted to try it, I could tell, but instead she was all huffy about how she got to ride a real broomstick, not a toy one, and how one of her friends is on the Slytherin Quidditch team. I reminded her that she said first-years aren't allowed on the team.

She's been ignoring me ever since, and she keeps poking and hitting me when the grown-ups aren't looking, and I know better than to tell tales. I hate fighting with Bella, and not just cause she's my sister, but also because it's not healthy. You never know what may happen. I remember when I was five I accidentally dropped one of her dolls (it didn't even break!) and she put maggots in my dinner, and pins in my bed. It was awful.

**December 27**

Dear Diary,

Bella and I sort of made up again. I was coming from breakfast and saw her petting Whizz, who was asleep on my bed. She jumped when she saw me, and called Whizz a "flea bag" but it's her way of saying sorry.

There was another party at Auntie's today, not just family this time, so I wasn't allowed to bring Whizz. There were some kids there that Bella knew from Hogwarts, some girls and a tall, mean-looking boy called Rudolphus, who kept laughing at everything I said, and looking at me like I was a bowl of throw-up. Sirius had some other little boys to play with, and they all didn't want me either, and Cissy was happy sitting on Auntie's lap and being fussed over. I was getting bored, but then Regulus wobbled over to me. "Siwius says I cawn't pway," he informed me. "And Mummy said I should go pway. Wanna pway, Ada?" I made up a pretty good game about being in the Forbidden Forest at Hogwarts, but I don't think he got it. After a while we just cuddled in our little corner. Regulus smells of bar soap and toy broomsticks, and he's very cute. "You're nice, Ada. Not like Bewwa. Bewwa's mean." "Bella's not mean!" I said. I mean she's not. Maybe she's not all soft and you can't cuddle her, like me, especially not Regulus, but she's not mean.

"I think she's mean!" Sirius said from behind me. He had a black eye and was hiding from Auntie, I could tell. It's the same thing at each of Auntie's parties- he hits someone's son, and then he gets in trouble for it.

"Bella's not mean! And things are so much more fun when she's here. At least we're not bored all the time!" I said again. I have to defend my sister, right? But I kind of know what Sirius means. Bella's always really short with him, and she yells at him a lot. And Bella can be scary when you're small and she's angry. But she's my sister! And no-one's allowed to call her mean while I'm around, not even Sirius.

**Don't care what day it is**

Dear Diary,

I hate Bellatrix Black. I hate her, I hate her, I hate her. I'm running away because I can't stand being in a house with her, because I hate her so much.

I hate her. I hate her. I hate her.

There, I've written it. And I don't care that it's an awful thing to say.

Today is the worst day of all my life. And now the ink's running and you can hardly read what I wrote because I'm crying so hard again.

**The Worst Day of my Life, December 29 1964**

**My room**

Dear Diary,

I floo'ed over to Auntie's house, but she brought me back home. And I've locked myself in my room because I don't want to speak a word to Bella ever again in my WHOLE LIFE, ever again. I'm in so much trouble, for flooing all by myself, and for running away, and for hitting Bella and yelling at her, but I don't care, I don't care, I don't care. They can lock me in this room forever, or at least until I have to go to Hogwarts, and then I'll get sorted into GRYFFINDOR and run off with that Mr. Blood traitor Dumbledore, and that'll serve them right.

I think I should write down what happened. Anyone can see how horrible Bella is, if I write it down.

It all started with Uncle Alphard. Bella and I were playing Gobstones, with the beautiful emeralds-and-silver set she got for Christmas (I've never had a set of Gobstones that were that nice. I just have the boring old glass kind, and they're running out of Stinksap. But I didn't get new ones, no, Mother just said I could use Bella's old ones. That's another reason why I hate her: she always gets new things, and I never do.) I said, "I don't think it's very bad, what Uncle Alphard did. Marrying the Muggle, I mean. Maybe she's very pretty, or can bake extra-good cake…"

Of course Bella just got started on me being an embarrassment to the family, and not having wizard pride, and how we had to honor the noble House of Black and so on, and so forth. Then Whizz came along, and I reached for him and started cuddling him. Bella looked at us like we were throw-up, just like that Rudolphus did at the party, and said: "See? You don't have a tiny ounce of proper wizarding pride. No real wizard would ever cuddle up with a stupid, boring cat that doesn't even have magical properties."

"Whizz isn't boring, and he's not stupid!" I said angrily, kissing his nose. "And I'm sure he has magical properties. He just hasn't shown them yet, because he's so small."

Bella laughed in a really mean way, and said: "That's a Muggle cat, Ada, I can tell."

"Is not!"

"Prove it!" There was something in Bella's eyes that was so mean when she said it. But I wanted to show her. I wanted to show her that I was right about Whizz, and that she was wrong. So I asked her how to prove it, and she said that cats always land on all four feet when they fall down somewhere, and if Whizz was magical, he'd be able to, even if he fell down somewhere really high. I feel so stupid, now, for letting her talk me into it. But I wanted to show her! And Whizz could have made it, I know it, because he's fallen off my bed twice, and it's a bunk bed, and he ALWAYS landed on his feet. But…it's so awful.

We all went to the first landing of the staircase, and Bella said to drop him down from there.

And I did. I kissed him on the nose and whispered "Make me proud, Whizzie," and dropped him.

And he fell. And he would have landed on her feet, but then Bella got out her wand and called "Wingardium Leviosa!" and did something to Whizz, and he just…crashed.

And there was blood everywhere and he wasn't moving. And then Bella said "I told you so", and Cissy started crying. And I ran down and…and…and…his eyes were closed and his perfect white fur was all bloody and…he was dead. He wasn't breathing he wasn't moving. I kept waiting for him to open his eyes and yawn, like he always did, but he didn't…he didn't…and he'll never. Never again. And he'll never run after Cissy's hair again, and never lick my nose again, and never purr like he's swallowed a Secrecy Sensor. I was going to teach him tricks. I was going to pretend he was a lion and make a Circus, and Sirius could be a clown but I can't now. I can't now.

This is the worst day of my life, EVER. I've never been so sad before. Only sad isn't the right word, I need a bigger word then sad. A word that means crying-until-I'm dried-up-like-a-shrivelfig. A word that means never-going-to-smile-again. A word that means what I feel like now. A word that means that Whizz is dead.

And it's all Bella's fault, because she killed him. And I started yelling at her, and tried to hit her, and bite her, even. And then Mother came and yelled at me, but I hardly even heard it, I was crying so hard.

I still am.

But the point is, I HATE BELLATRIX! She killed Whizz. I'm never going to be nice to her again in my whole life, and I'm never going to be her sister again. EVER. I'm never going to play with her, even if it's a really good game. I'm never going to give her my sweets. I'm never going to play cards, and the next time she makes fun of Cissy, I won't laugh. Because Bellatrix Black is NOT my sister anymore, because I hate her.

I can't really use this diary anymore, because she gave it to me. I'm going to keep it, and when I'm older, I'll take the charms off and show them to everyone, so they can all see what she did to Whizz. And then they'll know she's bad. They'll know.


	2. Chapter 2 Titles

_Disclaimer/Author's Notes etc: I'm not JK Rowling, and I don't own a single atom in Harry Potter's world. Thanks a billion to my lovely beta Wombat, and pre-reader and confidence booster Anya! Also a big thanks to everyone who reviewed Chapter One!_

**Chapter Two- Titles (Narcissa Airhead Black)**

"The title symbolizes stages in life; social status and climbing…it is sometimes the only clue of the ups and downs of a life one has"

-W. Peterson, _Upon Historical Sources_

**Narcissa, 1981**

Narcissa Airhead Black. That's what they called me, as a child. Bella made the name up, and they all adopted it- Andromeda, Sirius, Regulus, even Aunt Hesteria . Airhead, because I liked to sit in my room drawing beautiful witches in shimmering dress robes, asked for hair clips for Christmas, and didn't enjoy games that tore my robes or messed up my braids. "Fine then, _Miss Airhead_," Bella would say, nose in the air. She still claims the name wasn't her idea, that Andromeda made it up, but I know better. You'd think she would admit giving her sister a slightly offensive nickname some 20 years ago, given what she's been up to lately.

I suppose I am Narcissa Airhead Malfoy now. Bella certainly thinks so. She comes to call three times a week, calling me a coward and traitor for not taking the Mark; shaking my shoulders when her robes reek of blood. It's ever so tiresome after a while. She can't understand that I do not lack confidence, that I don't need persuasion. It is impossible for her to grasp the concept that someone would not be eager to risk everything for a murderer and a Cause. She gives me hard, searching looks and asks me whether I have faith, whether I am taking up the traitorous ideas of Her Who We Don't Name. But it isn't that- I simply don't want to swear complete obedience to the Dark Lord. Not now, not until Draco's a little older. It's bad enough his father is out there, in danger of getting himself killed or thrown into Azkaban. I can't. I can't leave my beautiful baby boy alone, thoroughly unprotected. I can't take the Mark, for Draco's sake. Regulus is –_was_- my cousin. I know what happens when someone angers the Dark Lord. If I made a blunder, Draco would suffer. The Dark Lord murders children like he murders everyone else. I can't risk my son's like that, I simply cannot.

This house is too big to be in alone with only a psychotic House-Elf and a baby boy . I've begged Lucius to at least stay the nights, but he can't, of course he can't. Though I'm not sure he would, if he could. He enjoys being in the Dark Lord's inner circle, the prestige and the high ideas, and cannot understand why all that he and my sister stand for disturbs and chills me. And so he leaves. Leaves me alone with muttering, stuttering Dobby, creeping out of corners when I least expect it and throwing me murderous looks. Whatever happened to well-behaved house-elves? I remember Milton, who'd always make us hot chocolate, and played cards with us… Oh my, look at me, reduced to thoughts about house elves. Once upon a time I was smart, irresistible, with boys following me around constantly. I nearly beat my useless traitor of a cousin at OWLs, and there wasn't a soul at Hogwarts who didn't think I was the prettiest person there. Now here I am, barely two years later, imprisoned in my own Unplottable, unleavable manor. Married to a man almost seven years older than me, who is currently more interested in his master than his wife.

The only one who can come here is Bellatrix, and, sister or not, she is slowly going insane. I cannot stand her visits any longer. I am quite desperate for company, for someone who is not a Marked murderer. I am desperate for someone who will make me forget the troubled times I have put my son into, but will enthuse over his gurgling with me. Desperate for someone sitting on the kitchen counter, cake crumbs spilling all over her sweater. Desperate for a laugh that makes her curls bob up and down, saying "Aw, Cissy, 'snot _that_ bad," as she ruffles my hair although she knows I hate it.

Andromeda? But no, I do not miss her. I swore to myself that I wouldn't miss her, swore I'd forget her like Bella and Auntie, who stood shoulder to shoulder, blasting away the name of a girl they'd known all their lives for the Family and the Cause. But Andromeda deserved it. She's a bloodtraitor, with that freak child of hers; she betrayed our family and all we stand for… betrayed me when I needed her the most. When father died and we moved into Grimmauld Place, she left me alone in that huge, creepy house and I spent an entire summer longing for her company. But it never came, nor will it ever. It's better that way. I don't think she even _likes_ me very much. There are very few people who actually like me, I think. Like me for who I am, Cissy Black or Narcissa Malfoy, or Airhead, or whatever it is they call me these days. There are few people who enjoy my company, and my sisters are not necessarily among them. But after that disastrous Christmas when I was seven years old and a tiny white kitten crashed on our paneled floor, she sort of stuck to me. Talked to me properly for the first time I could remember. I was floored. I'd spent most of my childhood craving for some attention from my wonderful, perfect, practically sainted older sisters. When I didn't get it, I made up my own friends. Friends who were as pretty as I was, wore long, flowing dresses and didn't kill each other like the people in Bella's games did. So Bella, Andromeda, and the boys, who followed along with whatever their cousins did ignored me. And I ignored them. It went well, until the New Years Day when Andromeda crept out of her room, eyes red from too much crying and obviously bored out of her wits, and joined me as I drew unicorns and princesses. She certainly still preferred playing with Sirius whenever he could come over, but the fact that Andromeda was showing interest in me was enough for me. The year we spent together, is, in my memory, the happiest of my life. She had a way of making everything more interesting, even things like Quidditch. When she left for Hogwarts, I was heartbroken, all the more so when I discovered she'd met some friends of her own, that she didn't need her Airheady little sister anymore. Nothing could have spoken plainer than the letters that stopped coming four or five weeks into the school year. It must be a Hogwarts tradition, ignoring the siblings left behind. Perhaps Draco shouldn't have siblings, so he cannot disappoint them that way.

Draco, my beautiful, perfect baby boy. I look into his face and all my frustration spills out of me like water out of a tipped cauldron. I forget that I am shut up in my own house; I forget that my husband ignores me and my own sister frightens me; I forget that I am of the House of Black. The only thing I see is my child, and when he smiles, I feel at home in this manor I detest so much. He is my child, much more mine than he will ever be Lucius'. It is my hand he holds when he makes his first wobbly steps, slipping on the cold marble floor of the drawing room. It is my shoulder he hides in when Auntie Bellatrix comes to call, my name is gurgles, all over again, as he reaches for my hair. My son, a sleepy, sweet little part of who I am. He smiles at me, and I feel more love than on my wedding day, more fear for him than I could ever fear the Dark Lord, and more courage than I ever thought I possessed. One day, I fear, I will need the strange power he gives me. One day, I dread, I will have to fear for him, will need my courage to protect him from harm. He lies in bed, and I think of the times he has been born into- how he will grow up with fear, fear for his father's and his own life, from those who still dare to defy the Dark Lord's inevitable success. He feels the fear even now. It reverberates from my body into his tiny little one, until he cries, and I soothe him, covering him with kisses until our unease is gone. He looks up at me, gazes at me with those alert gray eyes, eyes that do not belong to a baby, but to the man he will one day be. He looks up at me and says one word, and I am Narcissa Airhead Black no more.

"Mummy."


	3. Chapter 3 Trophies

Chapter Three: Trophies Neville Longbottom, 1990 

The trophy room was quiet and empty. They wordlessly crept through rows and rows of cups, shields and medals, illuminated by the moonlight. Next to him, Hermione Granger was breathing furiously, while Ron and Harry Potter were looking excited, rather than scared. Neville tried very hard not to think of what Gran would say if he was expelled from Hogwarts after his first week._ She'd probably throw me out of the house_, he thought miserably. _I'd have to go live at St. Bartholomew's Squib Academy , which is probably where I belong anyway_. Ron whispered something inaudible to Harry Potter, who made a shrugging sort of movement. And then Neville saw it. A large, golden goblet, handsomely decorated with a coat of arms Neville didn't recognize, standing on a mahogany pedestal proclaiming that it had been awarded to Bellatrix Black.

He remembered the first time he had heard that name. He had been a little boy, five or six years old, clutching his grandmother's dress with one hand, and a crumpled up candy wrapper in the other. As they walked along the corridor, away from the ward where his parents lived, he asked her: "Gran, who did it?" The question had been puzzling him for awhile, ever since he had come to realize that people like his parents didn't just become like this, that there was a wand involved, and spells and someone holding the wand as they jeered into his mother's beautiful face.

"Oh, Neville." Gran had crouched down next to him. "It was a woman named Bellatrix Lestrange. I knew her when she was a little girl, just as old as you are now, but then she grew up to become an evil and bad woman. She did it because she hated…she was a bad person. She hated everything. It was her fault. And Mum and Dad tried to fight against her, but…it wasn't their fault, Neville, do you understand that. Bellatrix Black was a bad person and she did it to them." She had given him a kiss on the cheek. This sudden, strange outburst of affection had stunned him more than her answer, then, but now, seeingher name here, on a handsome goblet like that…Neville gasped loudly, which made Ron poke him in the side. At this moment, they heard Filch's wheezing voice very close by. Neville's mind was reeling. He scurried after the others, questions exploding in his head like Shock Spells. Who had awarded that…that woman…_anything_? Why her! What had this evil, twisted…person… ever done to earn her a place next to honorable Quidditch players and special-service awards? It wasn't right, it wasn't fair, it was…he clenched his fists angrily, making a frustrated little noise. A horrorstruck second later, he realized what he had done, broke into a panicked run, tripped over Ron's robes…and both of them fell headfirst into a suit of armor.

_**Bellatrix Black, 1973**_

"And so, I am more than proud to bestow this award upon a young lady without whom we would all not be standing here. Through her passion and commitment, she revived the Hogwarts Association for the Appreciation of Pureblood Ancestry, and gave us all a safe haven where we may stand proud of our fine families. For nowadays, we must…" Bella's smile was still fixed upon her face, for she knew everyone was watching her, but for a minute or two she let her mind wander. She did not have to hear Professor Yaxley's speech again, seeing as the professor had been kind enough to show it to her beforehand, making sure there were no passages that displeased her star student.

Bellatrix let her dark, alert eyes fly through the assembled crowed. Every member of the AAPA had turned up for the Association's end-of-year award ceremony and party, many bringing dates. This meant that most of Slytherin House was assembled. There was Cissy, flirting haplessly with Hector Carrow _and_ his brother Paris, who were both older and of lesser birth than her. She would have to have words with her later. That girl had less sense or propriety than a house-elf, but at least she did what she was told. Bella shuddered to think what spectacle she would make of herself next year, without a sister to guide her. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. The handsome velvet dress-robes –black, of course, heavily embroidered in emerald and silver- were itching, and she felt chilly, despite the ermine stole around her shoulders. The family crests and floating candles club members had used to decorate the dungeon for the party did nothing against its' draftiness.

There was Andromeda. Anger flared up inside Bella so powerfully, she had to take a deep breath to stop herself from shaking. She had not wanted to come, of course not. She had dragged the girlhere herself, and now, she was humiliating her in public, studying, the book hidden on her knees under the table. It was despicable, atrocious, unbearable. Bella could not believe that she was related to someone who played as easily with the Black family honor as Andromeda did, who did not seem to care one bit about the generations of forefathers she was shaming. Bella lightly touched the choker around her neck, a platinum letter B, heavy and cold against her skin. The sensation of sharp, glacial metal against her fingers was reassuring. _I shall not fail you_, she thought.

At this moment, applause rang through the dungeon, echoing on the walls. Professor Yaxley had finished her speech, and was waiting for Bella accept her trophy. She rose. Cool and calm, a model of poise, pride and pureblood dignity in a world where all of this counted less and less, Bella rose from her seat and walked to the podium, where her teacher was waiting with the award. She accepted it with a nod and without a smile, and turned to the room at large, almost savoring the applause. This was hers. _She_ had built this. In her first year, she had first found out there had once been the Hogwarts Pureblood Association, and since then, she had worked for its revival. She had recruited students and Professor Yaxley, she had set up meetings and activities. By now, an open meetingwhere students could meet others from Pureblood ancestry, could speak to the right people, and couldfind a sheltered place away from Mudblood upstarts who had no manners, no taste and no respect for their superiors took place once a week. It was their safe haven, and everyone in Slytherin had used it at least once- with the exception of Andromeda Black, the founder's own sister, who rather went to the Charms Club or Home Spells Education Courses. _Fool_. Bella clasped the trophy in her hands, looking at the applauding students. There was Rudolphus, and young Rabastan, staring at her as though she werehis heavenly savior. The Carrow brothers, who had taken their eyes off Cissy for now. Bestian Gibbon, a sixth year, Clytemnestra Rosier, a promising fourth year who was Bella's cousin. The second-years: not just Cissy, also Snape and Wilkes. All of them would rise knowing their worth in this world, knowing that their pureblood ancestry was their greatest weapon. They would be proud of their names and their families, proud to fight their way past upstarts and usurpers from the Muggle world. They would fight all that, because they had the knowledge that their greatest asset flowed in their veins. Bella cleared her throat, and with one last, satisfied look that swept the crowd, began her speech.

"Five years ago, I first spoke to some older students about this organization. I remember them looking at me with doubt, saying it could not be done, it would not be done. I believe tonight, we prove them wrong! I believe tonight, we show them what purebloods can do if they set their will to it- and that is _everything_! This world may not realize who we are, and may fail to appreciate us, but as long as we know our own strength and draw that strength from our blood lines, we can still have our say. Let me speak to you today about the challenges facing us, the young and pure elite of the wizarding world, in the days to come…" She spoke for fifteen minutes, praising the society and its members –for careful flattery _would_ get you everywhere with this mob of pubescent nobility-, spoke of how much there was to do, how much to govern and preserve in the magical community, and how they would be the ones doing it. She spoke with passion in her voice and a fire burning in those icy blue eyes, as she assured the crowd that was hanging by her every word that the world was waiting to be governed by them.

"…And thus, I invited you all to rise up with me, and each in your noble and individual way, step up and demand the privileges our ancestry demands back, and put the world back into the hands of the people it belongs to! Thank you!" As the applause reached a new high, not a single person in the cheering crowd doubted that the purebloods had any right to take back what had been taken from them, and that Bellatrix Black would be among those leading them in their efforts.

Much later, after having her hand shaken by a couple of dozens of people, after small talk and congratulations, Bella was exhausted. She was sitting in the Slytherin common room, watching the fire die away, her feet tucked under her lap, allowing the tension to spill out of her body. Next to her, Rudolphus was playing with her hair, running his fingers down her neck slowly. She felt the hairs standing up, felt the touch, but it was oddly blurred, as though she wereexperiencing it through a heavy blanket of mist, or snow.

"You did brilliantly," he was telling her, clearly hoping for a little celebration himself. She'd be damned if she'd give it to him. He had not yet learned to respect her, and till then he would have to wait. "And incidentally , there's someone I should like you to meet. Father thinks you've earned it."

Suddenly, she was wide awake. Her whole body tensed up again as she stared at Rudolphus. He had of course mentioned him before, this friend of his father's who was, unlike everyone else, prepared to go a long way to get rid of the Muggle upstarts, the parvenus without shame and proper breeding. He had mentioned before now that there was someone out there who knew power and could use it for a cause, the one, true Cause. It was this moment, Bella realized, which she had worked for ever since learning his name, a name she tasted power and passion, force and possibilities. _Lord Voldemort_.

"This package," Rudolphus continued, and this time Bella was actually listening, "contains a Portkey that'll take you straight to him. Father sent it this morning. He is waiting for you,Bella. Father has told him all about the society, and about you, and the Dark Lord is very anxious to meet you. Do you hear, Bella? Very anxious. So don't disappoint him. Be polite and be humble, not your proudish Black self, he won't have any use for that. Do whatever he tells you to, and don't expect anything in return."

The discord was palpable, two voices screaming inside her in clashing pitches: _A daughter of the House of Black doe whatever she pleases, not whatever she is told, _one screamed, but the other was calling back, _This is your chance, one chance to actually _do_ something against the Mudbloods, not just moan like Father and Aunt Hesteria. _In one movement, she snatched the package out of his hands. She was ready.

"Be quick. He's expecting you. And not a word to anyone, do you hear me. And don't-"

"Oh for Slytherin's sake, you're being ridiculous, Rudolphus. I know all that. I know what to do." She was impatient. She had been waiting for this moment for so long. With shaking fingers, she untied the package. Inside was an opal necklace, looking ancient and slightly sinister. She regarded it shrewdly, then looked at Rudolphus. She was letting him touch her, was letting him kiss her and whisper things into her ear, but that didn't mean she trusted him. He wanted… _things_ from her, and she knew he would go a long way to get them. "This is a Portkey? You're not playing with me, are you?"

"I swear I'm not. I'd never dare use his name in vain, no matter…go. He's waiting."

She touched the necklace A lurch behind her navel, a burst of colors- and she landed, staggering slightly, on her knees in a curtained room. The room was dark;

only a blue candle burning at the far end penetrated the shadows. Bella glanced around uncertainly, the excitement rising inside her. But the room was empty. No one was here, no one was awaiting her. _Her_, eldest daughter of the Blacks, who had been actively fighting for the rights of Purebloods- they were not waiting for her. Fury rose inside her, andalready she was regretting trusting Rudolphus, who had probably gotten the dates mixed up…but then, something stirred in the shadows. A man was standing in the far corner, she could barely make out his form in the gloom. But then he spoke, and his voice filled her up, as though her ears had been created for the sole purpose of hearing him.

"Ah, Miss Black. What a pleasure it is." The sneer was audible, the arrogance quite obvious, but Bella felt no contempt, indeed, her head was wiped clear of all thoughts. Out of impulse, she bowed her head.

"Please, please, Miss Black, do get up. Come here. I should like to look at you." So cold, this voice, so dangerous, but Bella did not for an instant consider disobeying. She rose, and in measured steps, trying to control her shaking muscles, crossed the room. By the dim, blue light of the candle, she saw that his face- was it a face? It was difficult to tell, the features were stretched and blurred in places, the eyes seemed to gleam red, but she was sure this was no mask, no spell. No disguise could have made her feel this, no mask or spell could make her insides feel like they were burning, blazing with blue flames that were slowly eating her up. His gaze ran over her appraisingly, lingering on the platinum B-formed choker on her neck, and then traveling down a little. She felt vaguely as though she should be insulted by the way his eyes were measuring her, like she was a horse at a race. She knew this was not the way to treat her, not the way to treat a Black lady, but she also knew that it did not matter. For the first time in her life, her family did not matter. All that mattered was him. This voice, this face, a body exuding power and will, ambition and force and everything she had ever wanted for herself, was suddenly all that mattered.

"Miss Black," the voice was measured, civil, inclined. Bella felt her heart beat faster and faster. "Why, precisely, are you here?"

She swallowed, and looked upinto those cold eyes. "I'm here to serve you, my Lord. I want to help you and do whatever you command me to. That is why I'm here."


	4. Chapter 4 Official Documents Records

Chapter Four: Official Documents

**Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry**

Class-Switching Form 

The student Andromeda Black (Slytherin, year 3) is hereby permitted to switch from Arithmancy to Muggle Studies at the beginning of the winter semester. He/She understands that she will have to make up all the course work she has missed independently and at her own responsibility.

Signed:

**_Prof. Jane VectorProf. Louisa Pelleyken  Prof. Horace Slughorn_**

(current teacher)(future teacher)(head of house)

I, Andromeda Black, am without a doubt the most excited third-year at Hogwarts. I'm also in deep trouble. In my bag, hidden under the sweets and tissues and unfinished Transfiguration homework, I am carrying a treasure. Treasure, you ask? Oh yes. I have an almost filled-out form allowing me to switch classes. No more excruciating hours of agony with Professor Vector, who is very friendly, but can't make up for the fact that I don't have a clue about numbers. I can barely add things in my head, that's how bad I am at maths. _But_, I hear you saying, _why on earth did you sign up for Arithmancy then? _

I didn't. I turned in my form last spring to Professor Slughorn, just like everyone else, with my name on it, my house, and my chosen subjects: Care of Magical Creatures and Muggle Studies. I've always wanted to do Muggle Studies, ever since Sirius, Cissy and me got lost in Muggle London accidentally. Kind of a long story- we sort of wandered out of St Mungos on the day Great Uncle Dorian died and walked around London for about ten minutes, and ever since, I've thought Muggles are _fascinating-_did you know they were the ones who came up with the wireless? Celestina Bloody Warble-ick wouldn't even exist without them. Which is not so much in their favor, if you think about it.

Anyway, so somehow –I still don't know how- Bella got wind of the subjects I'd picked, got her hands on my form, and changed it around. She put me into Arithmancy, of all subjects, of course, without breathing a word of all this to me all summer, until the morning of the first day. I was about to go to breakfast, and she cornered me in the Common Room, and started lecturing me about what I owned to my fathers, and did I have no proper pride…and I was just thinking _Now what have I done?_ Because I get these lectures once a fortnight when we're at Hogwarts, because Bella feels she has to improve her mediocre, undeserving sister (me) since no-one else will do it. I hate it. From the moment I was sorted into Slytherin, I realized my life was going to be hell, because Bella is _always_ around, and whatever I do, she finds about. Including taking up Muggle Studies. Once I realized what she'd done, I was ready to strangle her with my bare hands (as I have been every day of my life since a particular Christmas five years ago, come to think of that), but the truth is, I'm still too afraid of her. I know, better than anyone else, I think, what Bella is capable of. She's a prefect now, too- she has every means of making my life hell. And no, I'm not exaggerating. She has vanished my homework too often for me to remember, by now she's done stuff to all of my school supplies so that I mess up in class. She's told the whole house, no, the whole _school_, horrible lies about me, she's gotten me into trouble with Mother and Father-and that's without all the curses and hexes she puts on me when I'm not looking.

She's not my sister. Not really. But I'm still terrified of what she might to do me. I shouldn't let her hurt me like this, but I can't help it- she knows me. She knows where it's going to hurt, and that's where she strikes, and then she watches me, and she likes it. I can tell by those eyes, those cold blue eyes- I've got the same eyes, and Cissy, too. But while mine are round and sky-colored, and Cissy's are sparkly, and a bit watery; Bella's look like those blue flames we use in potions sometimes. Cold and hot and _deadly_.

I don't know what she'll do once she finds out. But whatever it is, it won't be good for me, that I do know. And she's going to try to bully me out of it, and she just might be successful. Because the truth is, I'm not very brave. I just want to be left alone. And honestly, Ancient Runes might be an interesting subject…except, well, I don't want to do Runes, I want to do Muggle Studies. Which is why I'm sitting here, shoveling food down my throat at top-speed, so I can get out of this hall and Slughorn to sign his form today. If I run into Bella now, or on the way, and she finds out…lets just say whatever she does might be very persuasive. I want to avoid that sort of encounter at all costs, and that means eating very quickly. 

Without thinking, I swallow a spoonful of boiling hot stew, and immediately start coughing as it burns my throat. Gasping for breath, eyes streaming, I reach for a glass of water. I spill most of it, but manage to take a gulp and blink, opening my eyes to unpleasant laughter behind me. Helen Carrow and Electra Pucey are snorting into their rolls and barely concealing their pointing fingers. They glare at me when they notice I'm looking, and hastily turn to each other, conversing in rapid, fake whispers. They're my roommates, but they never talk to me. They think I'm some kind of freak, and they're actually terrified of being friends with me, lest Bella or their parents find out. It's like I've got some sort of disease they'll catch from me- Bloodtraitoritis or something. Just because I haven't stopped speaking to Sirius, just because I I'm not in awe of people because of their family name, just because I don't dress up in all green for Quidditch matches and join the ranks of girls wanting to "celebrate" or "comfort" the team afterwards, just because I talk to people from other houses –even Gryffindor!- and would rather go to the Charms or Homespells Education club meetings than the stupid AAPA. That's the Association for the Appreciation of Pureblood Ancestry, in case you're wondering. And no, however much I wish it, I can assure you I am _not_ making this up. Bella founded the AAPA two or so years ago, and I think it's the most ridiculous thing you've ever heard of- a bunch of Slytherin's sitting in a circle talking about how great their families are and how much gold they've got. Also, they teach each other curses we don't learn in class and complain about Mudbloods. Catalina Malfoy, another girl from my dormitory, goes every week and from what she tells me (she's the only one to actually to me- she's quite decent, actually) it sounds just like Family Teas at Auntie's, except without the good food.

No wonder I'd rather be meeting people from other houses, and I have, and made some friends: Wynne and Mafalda Hopkirk, twins in Ravenclaw, Alice Macmillan, from Hufflepuff, and even a Gryffindor- Fabian Prewett, he's their prefect and a bit older than me, but very nice. They all are. Of course, they're all Purebloods- just because I talk to people from other houses doesn't mean I go around befriending Muggleborns. They're so _weird_, they are. They don't know anything about anything, and they act strangely- like they don't have manners or something. There's this boy in my year, Chris something-or-other, in Hufflepuff and he just talks to everyone, even Seventh Year Slytherins in that loud, confident voice of his- it's so irritating. Honestly, I'm not like Bella that I have to hate all the Muggleborns on principle, and actual Muggles are sort of cool, but I'd rather have wizard friends.

I quickly eat the rest of my lunch and walk over to the Gryffindor table to chat with Sirius for a moment. He's doing great, I've never seen him so happy- he's got great friends, friends that aren't related to him, and he loves it. There they are, heads together, talking about snot and Quidditch as first-year-boys might, but the minute they spot me coming closer, they stop talking. They do that all the time, and I've asked Sirius about it, but he just said "You're a girl" in that _voice_ of his, as though it explained everything. They're all very nice boys- James Potter is such a charmer, even for a first year, and I saw Peter Pettigrew defend a couple of _second year_ girls against that bullying beast Crabbe from my year- isn't that sweet?

They all smile at me, and Remus Lupin says "How do you do, Andromeda?" in that polite, formal voice of his, which makes James sigh and Sirius roll his eyes behind Remus' back. Boys, honestly. We chat for awhile, and I remind Sirius to write to Regulus, they only one still left at home. Suddenly, I see Bella coming into the Hall from the other end.

"I've got to go-" ducking behind students, I hurry out of the Great Hall, to Slughorn's office. He was prepared to love all three of us when arrived, because we're Blacks, which is good, because he doesn't care so much I'm not great shakes at potions and only come to the Slug Club meetings when I've run out excuses or can't stand staying in my dormitory any longer. I think I might be losing my touch though, now that Cissy's here and turns out she's actually quite good at potions. But she is a first-year, and I know a lot more than she does. It's funny how having no real friends in your entire house will leave you to learning all your schoolbooks by heart.

I knock on Slughorn's office door, checking around to make sure the corridor is devoid of any of my sisters.

"Ah, Miss Black!" Slughorn is beaming down at me.

"Hello, Professor Slughorn," I flash my most winning Wholesome Pureblood Smile at him and continue, "Professor, I'd like to switch electives after Christmas- I'm having a lot of trouble with Arithmancy, it's too hard for me. I'd need you to sign the form, please."

Slughorn pats me on the arm genially. "Of course, Miss Black, of course. I understand, numbers can be a tricky thing, and it's no good sticking with something you're not good at, I understand perfectly…now, if you'd give me that form…"

I rummage around in my bag, and produce my treasure- slightly creased and wrinkled, with an ink-smudge in the corner, but nothing worse. Slughorn sighs at the state of the form, and looks it over, his eyes widening in surprise. "Muggle Studies! My, Miss Black, that's certainly rather…unusual for someone of your background, that is to say, with your family…most interesting, Miss Black, most individual. Well, I'm sure you will do a wonderful job at the subject…here, I'll take the form and take care of everything else, you'll receive a new schedule after Christmas. And Miss Black, should you develop a keen interest in Muggles, why, I would be delighted to set up a few meetings for you to explore career possibilities…most interesting, Miss Black, most unusual…"

"Thank you, professor," I smile, "That's very kind of you. I'll think about it."

"Do, Miss Black. Well, see you in class!"

"Good-bye, Professor. And thank you." I close the door behind me, feeling a small wave of elation pass through me. I've done it, I've really done it. No more Arithmancy, and there's absolutely nothing Bella can do. I turn to walk towards Charms, so excited, so happy, so-

"_Andromeda_!"

No. No, not now, not at this moment, not Bella, striding towards me, her footsteps echoing in the corridor just like my conversation with Slughorn must have, so that she could hear every word.

"Andromeda Carys Black, come here, right now!" And there's her voice, icy with anger, and it's like it's making my legs freeze, making me slow down. Where elation was just seconds ago, all I can fear is naked panic.

"Andromeda, come here."

_No_, I think. _I'm not coming, and you can't make me_. Naturally, I don't say it aloud. You don't say things like that to Bella, not if you value your health you don't. In fact, you shouldn't even think them, because she can tell. She can tell, and she can tell right now, as my footsteps are getting slower and I'm starting to shake, because, no matter how blasé I pretend to be, I'm terrified of her. But I can't stop, can't let her win, so I just walk on as fast as I can with my legs freeing, pretending I can't hear her. The trick, I've worked it out fairly well in the past three years, is to go as fast as you can without actually running, and to think so loudly you can block out her voice, and how afraid you really are.

"Andromeda, I am not answering for this. You are an embarrassment to our family- and I know you can here me, there's no need to run, you pathetic, cowardly excuse of a witch!"

_Ignore her. You can hardly hear her, she's hardly even here_. I'm trying, I swear I'm trying to drown out those words, hard and cold like great big daggers slashing my skin. Back, through the Entrance Hall, head down, hoping I might be able to reach that tapestry, that secret corridor she doesn't know about, where I've managed to escape to, before. But the truth is, I know I'm not going to escape today. She let me off before now, but what I've done today, she won't stand for. I know, she's going to get me, and now my legs are so heavy I can't even move to crouch behind a few fifth year's large backs, and sneak into the hidden door. Something hot gashes my cheek, pain explodes for a second. I freeze, gasping, reaching up a hand to gingerly touch my face. It stings, and my fingers are covered in blood. She's done it, she's got me, and it's this split-second of horror that matters. Within seconds, Bella is upon me, like a cat upon the mouse, pushing me roughly into the tapestry, the passage beyond.

"Does it hurt?" My sister demands, staring intently at me, searching, I know, for a sign of weakness. And she's right to search, already I feel weak, but I'm not going to show her that. I push up my chin and stare back defiantly, willing my eyes to remain dry, my countenance not to twitch. I can't not cry. That would be the worst. It occurs to me, suddenly, mind-beguilingly, that it is Bella who has taught me this, not to cry, to stick up my chin and stare, with those blue Black eyes we both have.

"Good," Bella said coldly. "Now listen, Andromeda, and listen well, because I'm not going to say this again. You're a daughter of the Blacks, and you're going to behave that way. I don't care what goes on in that empty space you call a brain, I don't own what you feel in that pathetic little heart of yours, but when you act, you will act as a daughter of your family. You will consider who we are and what we are. And if you do not, you will pay. I've had enough of this. You've been making fools of me and Cissy and the family for your entire life, but it's going to stop, today. Understood?"

I don't say anything. Each of her words is like a swift, well-placed swipe at me, each over pronounced consonant hurt like another spell, but I can't say anything, because somewhere in my a courage is growing I never knew I had, and I know, somehow, that if I give in now, I'm going to have to throw myself off the Astronomy Tower because I won't be able to stand being…me. And I shake my head. Staring up at Bella, without crying, the way she taught me to when I was four and she was six, I defiantly shake my head.

She slaps me. In an almost graceful movement, her hand, ice-cold and callous, slaps my cheek where her spell made contact only seconds before. "I said do you understand me?" she hisses, her voice as cold and hurtful as her hand, now covered in my blood. She draws her wand and holds it in my face, looking me straight in the eye, staring me down.

And again, I shake my head. My cheek is bleeding and burning with pain, my legs still feel frozen, and I feel very, very small against my sister, with those blazing, cold eyes, but I'm not scared anymore. For the first time in my life I'm not terrified of Bella, and what she might to do me. I'm angry, angry of the way she hurts and controls me, and has been trying, all my life, to turn me into someone I'm never going to be, someone I couldn't ever be. I'm so furious. I can't feel anything else, no fear, can't think a single, rational thought. All I can do is reach for my wand. Bella's still pointing hers into my face, and she's still staring right into my eyes, and I never look back as I grasp my wand and yell "EXPELLIARMUS!"

She gasps, her wand flies out of her hands but I just stare, can't catch it, let fall behind me, down the secret staircase. And now I know I'm in trouble, and I'm shaking so badly and all the fear I wasn't feeling before is crashing over me, and all I want to do is run. I want to run, out of this corridor, out of this castle, into the forest and live with the unicorns Cissy used to draw for me, before Bella took her away from her, and now my little sister doesn't even talk to me anymore., because of her. Bella who, staring at me with a mixture of esteem and repulsion, whispers "You are going to regret this."

I run. My legs aren't frozen anymore, and I can run, push my self past her astonished body and run as fast as I an, her cold hands, stained with my blood, grasping for me, but only snatching thin air and the hood of my robes. I can hear material rip, and I can run, through the corridor suddenly full of people on their way to class. She's behind me, hitting curses at my feet, I can hear steps through the crowed as I stumble past them, round two corners and into an empty classroom, locking the door with my wand.

I sink down on a table. I'm shaking so badly I can barely look straight. The cuts on my cheek re burning so badly it's making me a little dizzy, and then I realize my socks are bloody under my robes, she must have gotten my ankles, too. Carefully, I move to the window, studying my hazy reflection in the glass, staring at my own face. Pale skin, flyaway hair somewhere between Bella's black and Cissy's blonde, a deep gash over my left cheek, and those eyes, those blue Black eyes. Suddenly, I feel dizzy, not just from the pain. Am I looking back at me, or is it Bella? Were those my eyes, looking at Whiz's dead body with icy satisfaction, were those my eyes, staring at Sirius full of hatred and malice?

But no. It was her, it was always her, haunting me, torturing me. But this girl in the window, that's _me_. Andromeda Black. A person all to herself.

"Miss Black?" Oh, dear. It's Professor McGonagall, walking into the classroom from her study, staring at me. "Gracious, Miss Black, what happened to you?"

"Professor, I…"

"You need the hospital wing. Go. I shall write a note to your teacher- that would be Professor Flitwick, yes?" I nod, unable to speak. The bell rings. Professor McGonagall gives me a rare smile. She seems to understand, about Bella and about how I can't, possibly, go out there alone right now. She unlocks the classroom door, students flock in. It's fifth year Gryffindor, I realize.

"Mr. Prewett," Professor McGonagall calls out, and Fabian turns. He stares at me, looking so shocked and so worried, like he actually cares whether my cut hurts or not. I can't remember the last time someone looked at me like that. "Could you please bring Miss Black to the hospital wing?"

He nods. "Come along, Andromeda." I follow him out of the door. Like Professor McGonagall, he doesn't ask any questions. He tries to cheer me up by telling me about Quidditch, and by the time we've reached the hospital wing, I can almost smile again. It might work out okay. I'll just stay out of Bella's way as much as I can and maybe stay in school for Christmas. Mother and Father just might let me.

Madam Pomfrey looks me over and clicks her tongue disapprovingly. "Curse wounds! Merlin, this is quite a bad one, too…well, this'll need Murtlap bandages and some spell treatment as well. God knows what you kids get up to these days, honestly…now, dear, why don't you sit down on that bed and make yourself comfortable? This may take awhile. I'll need to keep you for the night at least." I thank Fabian for bringing me here- he ruffles my hair affectionately and I clamber onto one of the Hospital Wing beds. The boy in the bed next to me has both arms and his neck in a cast, but he's grinning at me all the same.

"Blimey," he says, "What've you been up to?"

"I…got into an argument with someone. You?"

"Quidditch. Bludger hit me and I crashed into the stands. I've got a complicated fracture in one arm and a splinter in the other, so she can't mend it by magic," he says, as though proud of this achievement. "I'm Ted, by the way."

"Andromeda," I reply, smiling at him. "Nice to meet you, Ted."


	5. Chapter 5: Furniture and Household Items

**Family History**

**Chapter Five: Household Items and Furniture**

_As historians, we must accept that while we may know much, what we do not know will always be more. We know, for instance, because a clerk at _Bait and Krarell's Magical Homeware_ has told us so, that in June of 1995 one Narcissa Malfoy went out to buy an entire set of new china, silverware and furniture. We know that she bought the most expensive items in the shop, such as a tasteful but modern set of ivory-colored plates and cups so finely made they were almost transparent; a gold-coated chaise lounge with French silk upholstery in emerald green. We know that she spent more than a thousand galleons on this, on a summer's day in Diagon Alley, surrounded by other rich and oblivious witches. We also know that that day would come to mark the day after Lord Voldemort's return to Britain._

_But that is all we know for sure._

She was sitting in the downstairs drawing room, reading, enjoying the evening sun and a glass of chilled white wine, when he walked in. He'd been puttering around in his study during the past few weeks more than was usual or permissible, coming to bed late, when she was either asleep or pretending to be. It had never been like this before- if anything, they had been a little _too_ preoccupied with each other when Draco had first left for Hogwarts. And before that, well, he'd been a doting, caring father who rejoiced with her in Draco's first, scrawled letters and his first signs of accidental magic.

Well, there _had_ been a time when they had not been on the top his agenda. There had been that time, a time that felt like a distant nightmare now, times too tainted and terrifying to be real, to not pale against the comforting light of her daily reality. She took another sip of her wine, reflecting that, for sure, it would never be like that again.

"Good evening, darling," he bent down and kissed her on the cheek.

"Hello," she smiled. "It's nice to see I have a husband again." She summoned a glass from the cabinet and poured him some of her wine.

He nodded, self-consciously. "Yes, darling, I know I've been…absent. I apologize." It was then, that moment of stilted formality so unlike them that she realized something was wrong. And not just bothering-him wrong- at that moment she sniffed danger. She sensed that there was something dark, something thoroughly unpleasant invading her world. Still, maybe it was just everyday worries; maybe he was just missing Draco, as she was.

Casting around for something to say, her eyes landed on the brochure from the travel agent's in Diagon Alley, the owl-card her sister-in-law had sent them folded into its middle. "Catalina told me about the resort in Atlantis they traveled to in the spring. It looks beautiful- we should take Draco before he has to go back to school in the fall."

"Yes, that sounds lovely," he replied mechanically. Her eyebrows shot of- this sort of idea was usually followed by an argument, because he felt that she spoilt their son too much, whereas he wanted him to have to work for his luxuries. "Although I'm afraid you might have to take him alone. I expect I will be rather busy this summer."

She frowned. "Busy with what?" _Busy_ was not exactly a word frequented in their vocabulary. Part of being a Malfoy was having an endless supply of gold without ever being _busy_.

"Oh, nothing of importance-" he took a deep swig of wine, looked out of the window, anywhere, it seemed, but at her.

"Lucius," she said, trying to catch his eye, "What aren't you telling me?"

It was a joke between them, an old catchphrase- it was what she'd said to him when they first met, at a summer masquerade at Rosier Hall. He was wearing a somewhat sinister mask to go with his purple Venetian costume, and he seemed to her too perfect to be true, and so she asked him, without an air of seriousness, "What aren't you telling me?"

It was only much later that she found out that what he wasn't telling her was that he was blessed with the ability to understand what she was thinking. That he was the only person on the planet who, instead of saying "Oh, what would you know about it?" would pour her another wine and let her finish her sentence. It was only much later that she understood that what he wasn't telling was that he was ready to let her sit on his desk, write his letters for him, and run her fingers down his shirt with a smirk on her face. He wasn't telling her that her schoolgirl crush, her delight to have found a man whom her parents would appreciate and she could admire, would over the years grow into honest respect and love for an intelligent and understanding man. And it was also only much later that she realized what he wasn't telling her that even if he vowed to honor, to cherish, to keep her, his Lord would always come first.

"Nothing, dear, how do you mean?" He replied, airily and without a flicker of a smile.

She laughed. "Honestly, Lucius, if I didn't know better I would think you've been having a secret love affair."

His laugh came too forced, too late, and still he wasn't looking at her.

It was like a punch in the stomach, but she knew, she knew that this was not about a secret love affair. This was not about some vapid girl with less body fat than was good for her, a pale midriff and long legs. He would _never_ dare. And then he unconsciously rubbed his forearm, and she understood.

_He_ was back. That was what this was about. She rose abruptly, spilling some of her wine on her green gown. "Excuse me," she stammered, "I need to…Dinner should be ready, I'll meet you there, yes?" Without waiting for him to reply, she fled the room, into the bathroom off the hall. She stared at her reflection, pale and somehow looking so much younger- wide blue eyes, watery, and hectic pink patches growing on her cheeks. It was like looking at her younger self in the mirror. Instinctively, she pulled out her wand and with a tap, fixed her elaborate hair do, which had unwound in the course of the day. As she renewed the coiffeur charm, invisible hands seemed to speedily rebraid her hair and reclip it tightly. The woman she looked at now- that was who she was at this moment, Narcissa Malfoy, thirty-two years old, mother not of an infant but a fourth year at Hogwarts. She was a woman who could sleep without fear, who could look at her husband without wondering when she would see him again. She was a woman who could live her life free of fear and bloodshed. She was Narcissa Malfoy. And _no one_ would take that away from her.

With a deep breath and square shoulders, every bit the proud fighter her sisters had always wanted her to be, although for a cause neither of them would think much of, she closed the bathroom door behind her and went to meet her husband in the dining room.

He was already sitting down, absentmindedly playing with his fork in a way that immediately reminded her of Draco- the gesture was so characteristic of him, the similarity between father and son almost chilling. Draco. He was another part of her life she would not let Him ruin all over again. As a baby she could clutch him in her arms and run away with him, but now he was almost a man and she needed to protect him more than ever. In this, at least, he must never be like his father.

She sat; mechanically tapping the little bell next to her plate, which she knew, would ring in the kitchen, informing Cookie they were expecting dinner. Sure enough, two plates of watercress soufflé with fresh trout from the creek behind the house appeared before them. Tasting the exquisite food, she remembered the brief spell of elf-less-ness they had encountered after that Potter brat had freed Dobby… Lucius, standing over the stove insisting he could make pancakes while she and Draco fell over laughing, going out to dinner seven days a week until her sister-in-law, Catalina, took pity on them and sent over Cookie as an anniversary present.

They sat in silence, eating the delicious food, the scraping of plates and clinking of china echoing eerily in the marble hall. They had filled this house, this cold marble manor, with noise, with noises of love. Lucius's attempt at whinnying when he carried Draco around on his back, her nursery songs for their baby boy, his laugh as he whizzed around on his toy broomstick. Lucius' low voice of desire when he saw her sprawled coyly on that sofa, her moans when he kissed her in exactly the right spot. Laughing and arguing with her husband over wine and Dobby's excellent cheese puffs. All that was left now was silence.

"Narcissa, we need to talk." He pushed away his plate and emptied his glass of wine in one.

"Yes," she said, sighing. "Yes, we do." She suddenly found herself incapable of looking at him, stared at her own distorted reflection in the silver chandelier in front of her instead, twisting a lock of hair into a tight rope. "He's back, isn't he?"

"You know?"

"I do."

"How—"

"I know." She looked up at him with a sad smile. "We've been married for over fifteen years, Lucius. I remember what it was like. I know you. I know."

"The mark- it's been growing stronger for months." She remembered him flinching when they made love, remembered thinking it was her fault. Remembered staring at her reflection, tracing the first, thin threats of crow's feet with panic and spending a fortune on skin care the next day. Fury rose in her. "Cissy, when he calls, I will have to answer."

Her eyes met his. "Don't."

"What?" His eyes widened in surprise.

"I don't want it again," she explained. "The fear, the blood. Bella- he will get her out of Azkaban, I expect. I don't want them in Draco's life, none of them."

"They _are_ in Draco's life," he reminded her with the crease between his eyes that she loved. "Role, Rosier, he's known them since childhood. And Snape-"

"I don't want it again," she repeated, her voice low and dangerous.

"But-" He shook his head in a gesture of confusion. "How _can_ you not want it? How can you not want him to return, to make the world we always agreed was a _better_ world, without Mudbloods to worry about? That's the world we want for Draco."

"I know," she replied, sighing. "And I agree with all of that, I just don't… it's not worth dying for. It wasn't then and it certainly isn't now. Look what we have, Lucius- a comfortable home, a good standing in society. We don't need him. I don't want to lose all this."

"It _is_ worth dying for. And even if he wasn't, he'd kill me if I deserted him, you know he would. He'd hunt us, and he'd kill us, you and Draco too. We'd lose all this anyway; we'd lose everything, maybe even our lives. Don't be so naïve."

"I am not naïve!" She was on her feet before she realized it. "It's you who's being absurd. I understood then, you were young and needed something to believe, some stupid cause, but you're a grown man. How can you throw all this away?"

"Narcissa, _calm down_. My devotion to the Dark Lord and his cause-"

"Your devotion?" She sneered at him. "Do you even know what devotion _is_? Bella was devoted, yes, but you? Lying and bribing your way out of prison and into Fudge's inner circle, that's devotion? Devotion lands you in Azkaban or in the grave. Bellatrix is my sister, I know what 'devotion' did to _her_."

"What I did then was to keep you and Draco safe, and what I'm doing now is the same thing. He will be very angry with us, at those who deserted him after he fell. Your sister and brother-in-law will probably be the only ones spared his wrath."

"That will please her," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Undoubtedly." They looked at each other, and she wanted to laugh. They understood each other so well. But then he spoke again, and the moment was over as quickly as it had come. "You understand, don't you, why I can't say no? Why I have to go?"

She thought of Azkaban, of Draco, of little Regulus, her favorite cousin, of his lifeless body and Bellatrix's cruel laugh. "I do."

"I will have to offer him something. In payment, if you will, to soothe his anger."

_Not Draco_. The thought shot through her with the force of a spell. _Not Draco. Anything but him_.

"This house."

"No," she said, and she wondered, briefly, if it was worse than what she had believed to be her worst fear. "Not this house. It's _ours_, Lucius." _Full of our sounds and our smells and our things and our love. With the furniture we picked out when we got married, this china, this _everything_, part inherited, part dowry, part picked out when we were young and completely without taste._

"Cissy, you know I have to. We _need_ to help the Dark Lord achieve his goals, for our own sake as much as for everyone else's."

"Why our house? Why us? Yaxley and the Carrows-"

"Do you want Yaxley and the Carrows to rise in his favor while we, superior to them in every way, plead with him for our lives and our liberty? Think, Narcissa! We make this sacrifice and we will be in his inner circle, our house will become center of the movement, and once we our successful –and we will be, I am sure of it- we will be more powerful than Fudge and his bumbling colleagues could ever make us!"

And she crumbled. It was no use. He was right, she knew he was making sense, she knew there were sacrifices they would have to make in payment for their lives. She did agree with him on his politics, she did want Draco to inherit a world from them where he would not have to deal with usurping Mudbloods, trying to steal the glory that was his, only his, son of the Blacks and the Malfoys. But it was not this, not even the prospect of this hall becoming a rallying point for the Dark Lord and his movement, that made her feel sick to her stomach. It was the fact that behind his rational words she could hear his voice shake with barely measured excitement. She could see his eyes gleam manically, and she knew she had lost this battle. She had lost him, lost him again to his Lord, his cause. Lost him like she had lost Bellatrix, like she had lost Regulus, like, in a way, she had even lost Andromeda. He was gone, and now it was up to her to protect him from himself, and protect Draco, like she had when he was a baby. "I understand," she whispered, willing herself not to cry. She could do that later, alone in their bed once he had flown to the Dark Lord's side. "I do."

"I knew you would," he sighed. He pushed his plate away. "I should get ready. He will be calling soon, I can feel it."

She nodded. He got up and, to her surprise, walked over to her, gathering her up in an embrace. "It was always a matter of time," he whispered into her hair, and she savored the feeling of his clean cheek against her neck, knowing it might be the last time he would smell so innocent, of nothing else than his cologne. "We were living off stolen time, Cissy."

"I know," she whispered. Her slim fingers closed briefly around his wrist. "I just wish we could have had more of it." He kissed her, urgently, than stood up and straightened out. And then he flinched, his hand flew to the side of his other arm, and she knew the Dark Mark had just burned.

"It's time," he said, tonelessly.

"Be careful," she told him, "please. Be safe."

"I will." He walked out of the door, to their apparition spot on the front porch. "Get the house ready, just in case."

"Be careful," she repeated. She blinked away a tear, and he was gone. She pulled herself together, wiping her eyes.

"Cookie," she called, walking back into the house, working to keep her voice measured. "Assist me in putting away the china. The silverware. Everything. I will buy new things tomorrow, tonight, you will help me put away the old things."

"Everything, Miss Narcissa?"

"Yes, everything," she snapped. "The plates, the goblets, the furniture. Move it into the cellar, there ought to be enough room. Leave Master Draco's room and the Master Bedroom the way it is, but I want everything else cleared out by the morning. Well, move!" The elf scurried away, and as she moved upstairs, she could hear the whizzing and whirring of objects being levitated though the air and into conjured crates. She would keep the life they had had for thirteen years safe. She would make sure the Dark Lord never touched the bliss they had had. That at least he could not take away from her, even if he took everything else.


	6. Chapter 6: A Wedding Dress, Part One

**Family History**

**Chapter Six: A Wedding Dress, Part One (you are my sweetest downfall)**

**A/N: **Please don't hate me for connecting this very beautiful song to the utter psychofest that is the Bellatrix/Voldemort "relationship"

_You are my sweetest downfall_

_I loved you first, I loved you first_

…

_Oh, we couldn't bring the columns down_

_Yeah we couldn't destroy a single one_

_And history books forgot about us_

_And the bible didn't mention us, not even once_

_You are my sweetest downfall_

…

Regina Spektor: Samson

Today is my wedding. I am, of today, Mrs. Bellatrix Lestrange. It's all a lie, of course, a sham, and I do not think a single person at my wedding party –except perhaps my mother- really thinks I want to be Mrs. Lestrange, really thinks I particularly care for my husband.

There can only be one man for me. It as a simple truth, as natural to me as my name. I smooth down my ridiculous white wedding robes and stride through the crowd of well-wishing hypocrites who all wonder whether what they have heard about me is true, past my absurdly beautiful sister and her friends in one corner, and my simply absurd sister sulking alone in another. Past my youngest cousin, the only one beside me who has understood, about the Dark Lord. But even he does not know, does not feel, what I do. I wander through the crowd with a vapid smile copied from Cissy, nervously emptying a flute of champagne. I fear he will not call me. Maybe my decision to wed, to enter this play and not publicly announce to the world that He was the only one I could ever give myself too, body and soul, has angered him. But then the necklace of opals we have used to keep contact since our first meeting, which I always keep on me, even today, burns against my skin, and I gladly leave my wedding to rush to his side.

"Bella?" I've already reached the staircase, the same one where I crashed Andromeda's filthy kitten when we were children, and first felt the sweet taste of power, of bloodshed, when Mother calls me back. Her slim fingers close around my wrist, her stretched, gaunt cheeks appear hollow. She looks half-dead in the light of the flickering candles, and she's barely forty-five. Time, if wasted on china and balls, is a venerable foe. "Bella, dear, where are you going?"

"I must go," I say, haughtily. She has produced three daughters –yes, three, I do not deny that Andromeda had great potential- who are more powerfully magical than she will ever be, and she knows it. I suppose she cannot help herself, to think she retains a certain amount of control over us. But she is mistaken.

"Bellatrix, dear, not tonight," she stammers, confused and wide-eyed, foolish like a girl. "It's your wedding." I despise her, and all women like her, who never dared peek beyond the bars of their gilded cage and see the greater picture, a truth, a cause. Who never used their magic for more than cleaning spells and soothing charms, when they had this great power and ought to use to it to do some good, in this world.

"Yes," I reply, impatiently. "Yes, tonight and any other night. Mother, you wouldn't understand. Now let go of me." I snatch my hand out of her grip, and she stares at me in shock. Maybe she has seen, for the first time, whom she has raised: I am Bellatrix Black, and I fight. But fighting must be learned, and so, I leave. This has been my life for the past year: by day, I allowed Rudolphus to court me, I started an apprenticeship at Gringotts, I tried very hard not to hex my mother when she came to talk to me about my dowery. And always, always, the necklace of opals under my robes, on my skin, and when it burned, I flew to his side.

He has been learning me in the Dark Arts. Has been teaching me in curses and creatures, in ways to control, ways to entice fear. He says, and I agree with him, of course I do, that all of these are things I never really had to learn, that the potential was always there, and all he is doing is honing, pruning. He says I show some promising talent, and those words mean much, much more to me than they ought. I have finally found something that defines me, something I am good at, something that I am. Narcissa is the pretty one, and Andromeda is the rebel, the traitor, and me? Being the dutiful daughter, the damsel, the pride and ornament of her house, that was never enough for me. Not even the APAA filled me up, gave me a purpose, the way this does. I wish to be someone. More than a girl, more than a daughter. And with him, I become that, that more. I cannot express it, especially not after all that champagne, but it is a force so strong that it makes me dizzy, breathless, like a fire burning inside me, slowly devouring me.

I rush upstairs, into my girlhood bedroom which I leave forever tonight, and step onto the apparition spot on my little balcony. I feel nothingness pressing in on me, and then, the dark townhouse in Knockturn Alley, the familiar blue-flamed candles, the sweet, pungent smell of decay wafting in through the cracked windows from the alley and the bar next door. I hurry up, into the large drawing room, containing not much more than heavy curtains and a splendid armchair. As I enter, the Dark Lord rises from the chair to greet me.

"Bellatrix."

"My Lord." I fall into a curtsey, and his long fingers reach out, cradle my chin in them. The flames inside me flare up at his touch as he motions for me to rise. His eyes travel over my body, and I see them widen in surprise.

"Bellatrix, what on earth are you wearing?"

"I-" I look down and realize only now that I'm still wearing my wedding robes, all white and embroidered, frilly and ridiculous. They were my mother's; she insisted I wear them. I feel the heat creeping into my face, feel like such a fool. "My Lord, I was in such haste to come to you, I didn't change."

"This is your wedding dress?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"But Bella," he drawls, and I feel goose bumps of dread travel up and down my skin, but it's a good feeling, almost. "I did not wish to detain you from your wedding. Go, celebrate. You are a bride. We can continue this at some other time."

"My Lord, I-" As he turns to leave them, room I frantically call out him, "Please, don't go. I want to learn. I want to learn more than anything else- I don't care about anything else, I don't care about my husband, about my marriage, I don't care! Please, don't go!"

He considers me, leaning his head a little sideways. "First of all," he says, coolly. "Never beg, Bellatrix." I swallow. In one swift movement, he has pulled out his wand, and summoned a fat, ugly rat from the alley outside. "Show me what you can do," he says, softly.

I pull out my wand, and point it at the rat, my wand shaking. "Crucio!" The rat twitches once or twice, then scurries away. I feel my stomach sink.

"Well," he says, his voice so cold and matter-of-factly that it makes me want to run away. "That was _abysmal_." I bow my head in silence. "What did I teach you? You have to mean them! You have to feel the pain, you have to take pleasure in it, you have to want to cause pain. Relish it, Bella." He pauses, licks lips. "Try again," he says, slowly.

"Crucio!" This time, the spell is stronger, but still, I know, not strong enough, the rat is still strong enough to run away the minute I let my wand sink.

"Bella," he says, slowly. "Let me show you what I mean. Crucio!" He says the word slowly, gently, like a caress. Pain explodes all over my body, making me gaps and writhe. It's horrible, and yet… and yet I've never felt so alive in my life, and when, beneath the pain, I manage to glance up into the Dark Lord's face, holding the wand, a spasm runs through me that's almost… pleasure. The way the sound of a fingernail run over a blackboard isn't completely unpleasant, the way the prickle you feel coming into the warm after a cold day doesn't exactly hurt. I cannot quite explain what is happening, in fact I even fear it, but this is a force to strong for me to fight, again, it's that fire, alight inside my body, and I relish it as it burns.

The Dark Lord takes away his wand. The pain vanishes, and all I'm left with is a diffuse feeling that's not quite relief and not quite longing. Panting and shaking, I glance up from where I've sunken on the floor. My eyes find his, hold his gaze for a second longer than ever before, until I'm forced to look away, until I can't stand it any longer.

"Do you see what I mean?" he hisses, his voice low and tense.

"I-" I take a deep, steadying breath. "Yes."

"Try again."

I get to my feet, summon the rat from its corner. It looks up at me, whiskers twitching in fear I take another deep breath, concentrate on that fire, on those ripples of pain and pleasure. "_Crucio_!"

The rat twitches and writhes, giving terrible, terrified squeaks. I see it's beady little eyes widen, see it shake and I don't understand it. How can it not feel that this is good? How can it not see that this pain is a gift, a gift that I'm giving it. I hold my wand over the defenceless animal, and hearing it squeal, seeing it writhe, I feel, curiously, the same spasm of almost-pleasure and almost-horror. I let my wand sink, and the rat falls, limp and panting, to it's side, it's eyes fluttering shut. The Dark Lord prods it with some interest.

"You didn't kill it," he informs me. "Which is good, because if you want to kill, to really and truly destroy, you use the killing curse. You don't do _this_."

"Yes, my Lord."

"We shall attempt that next time."

My eyes widen. "The Killing Curse?"

"Yes," he says, slowly. "Unless you feel you are not … _ready_?"

"I-" I drop my head immediately, submissively. "I'm not sure," I whisper.

He Summons another rat out of the alley, hands it to me. "Do it again," he says, slowly.

I concentrate with all my might on the pain the rat is about to feel. "_Crucio_!"

After a few moments, I let my wand sink. The rat has grown limp, and I realize with a detached sort of horror that it isn't breathing anymore, it's whiskers not twitching. The Dark Lord looks at me appraisingly. "You see?" He says, coolly but not unkindly. "You're as ready as you will ever be."

---

"Where is he?" I snarl, staring down at the blonde, round-faced woman cowering down in front of me with hatred and rage like I've never felt it before exploding inside me. "You know it, I know you do! Tell me where he is!" _Tell me where he is, whether he is alive or dead, where I can find him, if I can heal him…_

"We… don't… Protego!" She gasps, her eyes wide with horror, fists balled. But she's weak, and so is her shield charm, is it so no match for me, for my agony and my fury.

"CRUCIO!" I bellow, and the curses flies straight through her protective shield, hits her square in the chest. I hear her yell and watch her writhe, but her pain is nothing, _nothing_ compared to what I'm feeling. Nothing compared to the bursting pain inside my body at the tought that he might be gne, wasting away right now and I cannot get to him, cannot help him.

"Stupefy!" She calls, or rather gasps, and nearly manages to hit me, but I dance out of her way at the last moment, and retaliate with another Cruciatus curse, which she manages to escape.

"Stupef-" She tries again, but I disarm her before she has a chance to finish her spell. Her wand goes flying through the air, and she watches it with horror. "I swear--- I swear to you I don't--- don't know where he is!" She gaps. "You can use Legilimancy on me, go ahead! But… you won't… won't see anything! He's gone, your master, he's-"

"Do not DARE," I roar, beside myself with more than anger, with fear and pain and with the horrible realitity that I might never see him again. "Do not dare, you filthy scum, you…"

"Who's going to stop me?" She calls, darting behind an armchair to escape the curses I'm throwing at her, her chin bleeding. "You? In the name of a dead ma-"

"_HE… IS…NOT… DEAD!"_

She's laughing now, openly laughing at me and I can tell she's trying to aggravate me, trying to distract so she can attempt to recover her wand. "Well then, where is he? Defeated by a baby boy, a half-blood, no less? Unable to come and help you, is he? Not as powerful as you thought?"

I can't here a moment more of this, cannot hear this filthy bloodtraitor, this scum, shout my worst fears up at me. "CRUCIO!" I bellow, and the pain spelled out in her face is my pain, and her horror is mine, and with every gasping breath she takes the fire inside me seems to burn a little bit more, and all I want is to burn, to have it done with. "CRUCIO!" I bellow again and again, and her sobs are dying and her body is going limp, but I'm still here, and the pain is getting worse, not getting better, and I yell the spell out, again and again and again, but it's no good, and even when they catch us, when they take my wand and cart us to Azkaban, I'm still burning, and maybe I will be for the rest of my life.


	7. Chapter 7: A Wedding Dress, part two

**Family History**

**Chapter Seven: A Wedding Dress, part** **2**

Her last day at Hogwarts, her last ride on the Hogwarts Express is really and truly over. She has spent the ride with Ted, in a compartment of their own, in each other arms, trying to make up for the fact that neither of them is entirely sure when they'll see each other again. They have plans, of course, but the closer they get to London, the stupider those plans seem. As the train pulls into King's Cross, Ted reaches into his pocket and hands her a handful of Muggle coins. "In case you need to find me," he says, kissing her, "I live on Manor Road, in Finsbury. The Tube station's Manor House. You got an O in your Muggle Studies NEWT, you'll figure it out."

Auntie and Bellatrix come to collect them from the platform, both looking frazzled and haughty and glaring at Sirius with open hatred as they rush his brother and cousins off the platform and into a Ministry-provided car.

On the backseat, Andromeda and Narcissa are unceremoniously informed that their father is dying, that he has been moved to Grimmauld Place, and that their mother has decided to move the family there permanently. Bellatrix says all this with raised eyebrows and a sneer that implies that dying is something she feels is quite beneath the House of Black in general, and her in particular. They arrive at Grimmauld Place, where the absence of Sirius is so conspicuous it makes Andromeda want to scream as she follows Cissy into the small bedroom on the second floor Kreacher has prepared for them. They are instructed to change and start unpacking until they are called.

"Father's sleeping now," Bella says, impatiently. "Mother's with him. But he usually wakes up in time for tea, so you'll see them then." She lingers in the doorway, as though unsure whether she wants to associate herself with her little sisters any more.

"How've you been, Bella?" Cissy asks, bending over her trunk and unearthing a mound of crumpled robes, which she dumps on the floor for Kreacher to collect. "Are you enjoying married life?"

"I suppose," Bella replies, icily. "Andromeda, tell me again what you will be doing now that you've finished school?"

"I'm starting healer training," she says, proudly. "If my NEWT marks are good enough, but I think they should be."

"Really?" Bella asks, coldly. "You must have been rather busy this year, _studying_." The emphasis she lays in those last words, the raised eyebrows and those penetrating blue eyes make Andromeda feel sick.

"I was," she mumbles, defiantly. "Very busy."

"Of course you were." Calculating and dangerous, a voice like a silver knife, poised to cut and kill. Throwing her sister a last glare, she straightens up. "I must get back to the Mannor, I'll see both of you at dinner."

"What about Father?" Cissy asks in surprise over a pile of books. "Shouldn't you stay around in case he dies?"

"He's been dying since Christmas, he'll hang on another few hours," Bella says with a cold, disinterested laugh. "See you tonight." She leaves the room in a billow of purple robes, black hair. Andromeda sinks down on her bed, looking at her little sister with open fear.

"She knows." Narcissa doesn't seem particularly affected by this as she calmly continues to empty her trunk of dirty laundry and assorted belongings. "She _knows_," Andromeda repeats, frantically. "Did you tell her?"

Cissy throws her a rather disgusted look and doesn't deem answer.

"Right. Sorry." She massages her temples in shock. "This is bad, this is really bad. How do you think she knows?"

"What about Regulus?" Cissy suggests, still in that measured, calmly disinterested voice.

"Nah," Andromeda says immediately. "He wouldn't think it was important, he still thinks kissing people gives you spattergroit."

"No, I don't," says an annoyed voice from the door. Both girls fly around to see their youngest cousin, already changed out of his Hogwarts uniform into a semi-formal, green-and-silver set of robes.

"Regulus!" Andromeda snaps, completely frazzled. "How long have you been standing there?"

"I heard Cissy say my name," he shrugs. "Can I come in?"

"Close the door," Cissy says. "Regulus, did you tell Bella or your Mum or anyone else in the family anything about Andromeda?"

"Like what?"

Andromeda sighs. "Like that I've been going out with…"

"That Mudblood in Gryffindor?"

"Don't call him Mudblood," Andromeda snaps. "For the love of Morgana, you're twelve years old, you don't even … never mind. Did you say anything?"

Regulus gives her the same measured, disgusted look Cissy just threw her.

"Fine! I was just asking," she snarls, looking at her little sister helplessly. "How does she bloody know about-" She stops as the door opens again. This time it's their mother, looking gaunt and wasted, with deep shadows under her eyes. "Mother!" Both girls jump to their feet.

"Hello, girls." Druella Black says, her voice seemingly stretched to breaking point. "Hello, Regulus." She holds out her arms, and both her daughters immediately cross the room and fall into them. Andromeda feels the comfort of her mother's frail body, her light touch and too-sweet perfume, feels her younger sister's smooth cheek against hers, and tears shoot into her eyes at the thought that she might have to leave them all. Their mother kisses them both on the forehead, then gives Regulus a short hug, which he attempts, but does not quite succeed, to wriggle out of.

"How's father?" Cissy asks immediately, staring at her mother, who sighs and looks away. The sisters exchange a helpless look, and Andromeda reaches out to grasp her little sister's hand.

"Andromeda," her mother says, her voice forced. "Would… would you come down to the study, please? There's something your Uncle and I want to discuss with you." To Regulus and Narcissa, she adds: "You two stay up here. Tea will be ready in an hour, I'll send up Kreacher to help you unpack." Cissy lets go of her older sister's hand, lingering uncertainly as Andromeda follows her mother out of the room, through the dark and majestic corridors of Grimmauld Place, into her Uncle Orion's study. From childhood, she has felt this room to be imposing and terrifying, with its dark paneled floor and walls lined in books, the imposing portraits and green velvet curtains. Her uncle is sitting, not behind his desk, but in armchair by the fire. In an armchair across from him sits a stranger with dark hair and darkened skin, wearing a deep-red set of silk robes with a silver scimitar dangling from the belt. Bellatrix is leaning in the corner of the study, watching the proceedings with a hungry expression on her face. As Andromeda and her mother enter, Uncle Orion and the stranger gracefully rise to make introductions.

"Mister Bashir, this is my sister-in-law, Druella Black, and my charming niece, Andromeda." Andromeda bites her lip in amusement. When has she ever been charming?

"Delighted to meet you," the strange Mister Bashir says, taking her hand and, to her disturbance, kissing it. "I am Mahmut Bashir, a business associate of your Uncle's."

"Pleased to meet you," Andromeda says, confused.

"Why don't we all sit down?" Her mother interjects, gesturing Andromeda to sit down next to her on the canapé. "Andromeda, Mr. Bashir governs our property in Assyria."

"Yes," Mr Bashir affirms. "I have a son your age, Miss Andromeda. His name is Ali, got top marks at the Amal Institute in Damascus, a very powerful wizard, very smart business man, and now he is working at export firm, selling flying carpets and such, very successful already."

"I…"

"Mister Bashir's family and ours have been doing business for generations," Uncle Orion says. "Quite as old a family as ours, I think?"

"Oh yes," Mr. Bashir says. "Our palace in Joppe has been in the family since roman times. Although now the place is called Yaffa, or course- but we do not bother ourselves with Muggle wars in our region."

"Quite right, quite right," Uncle Orion and mother nod, seriously.

Andromeda tries to catch her mother's eye, but fails. Completely at a loss of what to do, or even why she is here, she even glances at Bellatrix, but only receives an eyeroll and an impatient nod in Mr. Bashir's direction from there. Meanwhile, Mother is reiterating all of her achievements to Mr. Bashir, "Oh, yes, she's been getting top grades at Hogwarts since her first year, came top of the year for OWLs, and she's already been accepted for healer training at St. Mungo's, a very prestigious institution, of course…"

Kreacher walks in with a tray of tea and biscuits, and everybody helps themselves, Andromeda gobbling down three bisquits not out of hunger but out of the need to do something with her hands. Finally, Uncle Orion says, "Mr Bashir, I think we ought to return to our business." Andromeda practically flies to her feet.

"Pleasure to meet you, Miss Andromeda," Mr Bashir says, inclining his head to her politely. "Until we meet again. Mrs. Black, Mrs. Lestrange…" As Uncle Orion returns to his desk, Andromeda follows Bellatrix and her mother out of the room. No sooner is the door closed, she hisses, angrily: "Can somebody explain to me what the ruddy hell that was about?"

"Language, Andromeda!" Her mother says, sighing and shocked. "Come upstairs with me, I'll explain." She leads them into the drawing room, where Bellatrix once again settles into the corner with that hungry look on her face, while Andromeda, arms crossed and feeling something between confusion and fury, sinks down on the armrest of on of the armchairs, while her mother sits down in another.

"Mr. Bashir," her mother begins, "is an old business associate of your father and uncle's. They are a very good, very noble sort of family, very kind people, rich, cultured. He approached us because his son is old enough to marry, and they know we have three daughters around the same age and …"

"Excuse me?" Andromeda snarls. "YOU WANT TO MARRY ME OFF TO ASSYRIA?"

"Andromeda Carys Black, you will not yell at your own mother."

"Oh yes I will!" Andromeda yells, fury rising in her. "Are you honestly telling me you want to ship me off to Assyria to marry some gormless peddler selling magic carpets whom I've never even MET? MOTHER!"

"Andromeda, calm down! No-one's saying you're to marry him straight away. We just thought, you could go to Joppe with Mr. Bashir, meet his son, spend a few weeks there, and maybe you would…"

"And maybe I would decide to get married to someone I don't love, someone I don't even know properly, because that's what's expected from my family? You mean like _she_ did?" Andromeda flares up, pointing at her sister. "This was your idea, wasn't it, Bella? Now that you've gotten rid of Sirius, I'm the last decent person left in this family, and you wanted me out of the way so you can recruit Cissy and Regulus for your Death Eating Lord, so you're having me shipped off to-"

"_Ustilos_!" A flash of green light, and angry gashes appear on Andromeda's hand and forearm.

"Bella!" Her mother says, shocked. "Under no circumstances are you to use dark magic on your sister."

Andromeda lets out a high, mirthless laugh, rubbing her hand as tears well up in her eyes. "This is nothing, Mother! She's been doing this to me since third year, only she never did it where you could see it, did she? Why do you think I'm practically a healer already? Because I've been curing my own wounds from every foul hex she ever put on me! And I never said a word, did I, I never complained, I just tried to stay out of her way! And now she's having me shipped off to some awful place to marry some awful, inbred man I've never even met before! But I'm not going, I'm not!"

Bellatrix laughs, coldly, cruelly. "Honestly, Andromeda, did they take out your brains while you were taking your Muggle Studies NEWT and replace it with a Muggle's? Mother, I'm not listening to a second more of this, I'm leaving. I'll see you tonight?"

"Yes, dear," her mother says, distractedly, and under her haze of tears and fury, Andromeda registers that her sister has left the room. Her mother crouches down in front of her, tips her chin up so she can look at her properly. "Is all of this true?"

"Ye- yes," Andromeda hiccups. "But it doesn't matter, I'm fine now, but Mother, you can't make me marry him, you just…"

"I know I can't," her mother says, sadly. "But it's been decided that you're to spend the summer there. You'll be leaving in three days with Mister Bashir, you'll be staying for six weeks. I'm sorry, dear, but there's nothing you can do."

"Mother, how can you allow…."

Her mother sighs, stroking her cheek. "Sometimes I think I gave you girls too much freedom when you were little, letting you run around with the boys, letting Bellatrix play those gruesome games of hers. It's not proper, for witches, to grow up thinking they have every opportunity in the world. It's just not how things are done." She straightens herself up, plants a kiss on her daughter's head. "You're to marry a respectable young man from an old family, and you're to have sons, and you're to act like a lady. That's how things are done, darling. I'm sorry if you ever thought otherwise. Now come, let's get you cleaned up before tea."

---

Cygnus Black dies the same evening. After tea, his wife, daughters, brother, sister-in-law and nephew gather around his bed, and he wheezes his last piece of advice to them all.

"Keep… the…old…ways," he breathes, his voice breaking. "It's… it's all… all… we… have…" After that, he is succumbed to a coughing fit, and Druella orders the others to say their goodbyes and then leave the room. Andromeda stares at the sick, bed-ridden figure in front of her, and finds herself at a loss of what to say to the man who is about to leave her in such a mess.

They sit in the drawing room subduedly. Uncle Orion retires to his study, and shortly after that, Cissy leaves, her voice breaking as she excuses herself. Cissy and their father liked each other, she was his favorite, his pretty girl, the predictable daughter. He traveled often, during his daughters' childhood, and when he returned, Narcissa was the only one who would enjoy the carved unicorns or pearl necklaces he brought back for them.

Despite the warning look Bella and her aunt are giving her, Andromeda follows her sister into their small bedroom and scoops her up in her arms. They're about the same height, in fact, Cissy's a bit taller, but tonight, she can easily fit into her older sisters arms. Gradually, her breathing eases, her tears dry.

"Aren't… aren't you sad?" She asks, looking up at Andromeda unsurely.

"I am," Andromeda assures her, when in fact, she's rather disturbed at how little her father's death is affecting her. "But father's been sick for so long, I'm hardly surprised enough to cry anymore."

Cissy laughs, hollowly, wiping her cheeks. "I always… always thought he might get better after all. Being… being stupid."

"Not stupid," Andromeda assures. "Keeping hope is never stupid."

"You sound like Dumbledore," Cissy says, half-reproachful, half-giggling. "What did Mother want from you, before?"

"Never mind that now."

"No, tell me. Was it… did you get into trouble because of… you know?"

"Not… not exactly." Andromeda muses. "Although I still think Bella knows and must have had something to do with it. No, it's... they want to marry me off to Assyria. They've found me a husband."

Narcissa's mouth falls open. "Honest?"

"Oh, yeah. It's a business associate of Uncle's, Ali Bashir, very old family, apparently. They want to ship me over there for the summer to see if I like him enough to spend the rest of my days with him." She laughs, thoroughly unamused. "This really is the last straw."

"But I don't understand, I didn't think they'd arrange marriages for us. Bella got to pick Rudolphus, didn't she?"

"Well, I s'pose with me they were afraid of who I'd pick if it was left up to me." Giggling, she adds: "They got that much right."

Narcissa sighs. "When are you supposed to leave?"

"Three days from now. But I'm not going, and I don't care if they blast me off like Sirius, I'm not letting them do this to me."

Silence falls. Outside, the sun is setting in a beautiful summer sunset, but inside the room grows dark and dull. Even Cissy's hair seems dark in the gloom. Andromeda senses that there are things her sister wants to say to her, and discovers that she is unable to guess whether she wants to say "Don't leave me here" or "Get out as quickly as you can". After fifteen years, her little sister is still an enigma to her, as much as she was on the day she was born, a round pink bundle with blonde fuzz that everyone was making a fuss about. After what seems like hours, their mother appears in the room, her cheeks wet and gaunt, her mascara running down her face. Wordlessly, she joins two of her daughters on the bed, and then, in a moment so highly surreal it makes Andromeda surrpetiously pinch herself, Bellatrix walks in and sits down next to their mother, and so, the remaining four Black women grieve for Cygnus, and not just him.

Bellatrix, of course, impatient with her mother's sobs and Cissy's tears, leaves first, and soon enough their mother gets up, strokes both of her daughter's cheeks distractedly and hurries out of the room.

They sit in total darkness, Andromeda's mind reeling with the hugeness of the decision she has to make, and finally, she breaks the silence. "I have to leave," she says, bewieldered. "I _have_ to. They're trying to arrange a _marriage_ for me."

Cissy remains silent.

"I don't…" She bites her lip. "I don't want to leave you here."

"Then don't," Cissy says coldly.

"But I have to!"

"If you think I'm going to make this decision for you-"

"Yeah, I know." Silence falls again, then Andromeda slowly gets up. Turns on the nightlight, opens the wardrobe, and unearths a rather roomy carpet bag of her Aunt's. She puts an Undetectable Extension Charm on it and piles books, robes, the little gold she has, and other assorted belongings into it. She wishes they were at home, at Black's Park, where she has photographs of them as children, of Sirius, where she has her old teddy bear and that diary Bellatrix gave her when she was ten. As her sister moves around, Narcissa sits on the bed, completely composed, watching her. She finishes packing and stares up at Cissy.

"Do you… do you think I should… I'll write a note," she says, finally. "You can pretend that you were asleep, if you like, then you won't get into trouble." Cissy doesn't answer.

Dear Mother, and everyone else,

I'm so sorry I'm doing this at a time like this, but I'm

leaving. I can't possibly stay here a moment longer, with

you thinking I'll go to Assyria and marry some pureblood

man. I'm in love, and very much want to marry, a

Muggle-born named Ted Tonks, and he's a better man than

any pureblood (other Sirius, Regulus and father) I've yet

to meet. And even if that wasn't true I could never be the

perfect, dutiful daughter you all want me to be. I hope you

understand, and I hope that this isn't the very end.

I'm so sorry to be a disappointment to you all.

Love,

Andromeda

She folds the note and places it on her pillow, then looks up at her sister, who is staring at her as though she knows that this will be the last time they will see each other for very, very long time, and is trying to burn her image into her head. She stares back, wanting to do the same, wanting to remember Narcissa as she is in this moment, with red-rimmed eyes, and not a trace of a sneer on her face.

"Cissy? Will… will you tell Regulus good-bye from me, and if he needs to… that I'll be there for him?"

Cissy nods.

Andromeda feels the tears welling up, feels them pressing in on her eyelids. "I don't… I don't like having to leave you here, I don't. I'm… I'm going to think about you so much, worry so much, and if you ever need anything, Cissy, anything at all, come find me, all right? Promise you will, please!"

Cissy nods again.

"Don't become a Death Eater," she says, frantically. "I don't care what Bella says, they're _evil_- don't become one of them. And try to talk Regulus out of it."

A third nod, and then Narcissa's composure breaks and she's on her feet, unearthing a crumpled set of ivory-colored robes from the pile of laundry Kreacher failed to fetch before. "Take these," she says, her voice breaking.

"What?"

"Take them."

"But they're your new-"

"I expect you'll be getting married sooner or later, and you won't be able to afford a proper wedding dress. Just take them, please."

"I…" She looks at her sister, and this time the tears really do come. "Thank you."

They stare at each other, then hug, tightly, neither of them really ready to let go.

"Are you sure about this?"

"I wish I wasn't." She kisses the top of Cissy's head. "You'll do all right. You don't need me, you'll do fine. You're so smart, so beautiful." Cissy just shrugs, gives her sister another quick hug. Andromeda wishes Cissy would just end it, throw her out, make this easier for both of them, but she doesn't, of course she doesn't.

Andromeda finally detaches herself from her little sister. Picks up the carpet bag. Waving a sad little goodbye to Narcissa, who is standing frozen in the doorway of the room, she tiptoes through the dark corridors, the sleeping house. Reaches the front door, which she quiety opens. Her eyes sweep the dark entry way one last time before she steps into the warm night.

She manages the ride on the underground just fine. Her robes earn her some sniggering, but seem to protect her from most of the unpleasant learing. She finds her way to the address she has written letters to for two summers with absurd ease, and it only takes a second of hesitation before she picks up a pebble and levitates it against what she very much hopes is his window. It is, and he stares down at her, and a moment later he's run down the stairs and into her arms, and she kisses every last part of him as the tears well up, and the situation is more real to her than ever before.


End file.
